Two's Company
by Peachdreamsandperseus
Summary: Some things are much better when shared... an early morning shower is one of them. Written in response to the 'anywhere with water' challenge. Steamy - in more ways than one.


_**Finally got round to responding to the 'anywhere with water' challenge - Your wonderful response to 'Hayfever' has certainly encouraged me to write more M rated stuff. Anyway, on with the show... I took a bit of inspiration from the 'Awkward breakfast' scene from Gavin and Stacey (seriously, watch it on Youtube... it's HILARIOUS!). Call it a preview of my upcoming Bransons Christmas fic 'Once Upon a December'. Enjoy and let me know what you think - it's steamy... in more ways than one ;) x**_

* * *

He's not sure what time it is when he finally wakes up - the cold light of dawn is streaming in through the gap in the curtains and the last thing he wants to do is to leave the sanctuary of the bed. It takes him a moment to realise that he's not alone, that she's here beside him (well, half on top of him really) in his bed in the house he'd grown up in in this quiet suburb of Dublin...

...and she's going to marry him.

He'd asked her last night - he knows that it was sudden and perhaps a little rash, but it just feels so right. He doesn't know what he's done to be worthy of this wonderful, passionate and beautiful woman who sleeps so soundly beside him, who had walked into his life quite by accident on a rainy day little over a month earlier, but it doesn't really matter. He loves her and she loves him...

...the rest is detail.

She stirs and stretches out her legs, running a hand across her face as her eyes flutter open and she takes a moment to remember where she is.

"Good morning," she whispers groggily and her smile is enough to melt his heart. "Yesterday happened then?"

He nods and shifts his position slightly so as she can snuggle against his chest, her wild curls tickling his bare skin. "You're absolutely certain this is what you want?"

"Yes," she replies in a heartbeat. "How could it not be? I love you, Tom..."

He grins and rolls them both over so that he's lying on top of her, kissing her neck and letting his hands wander across her stomach, hips and sides. "We'll make this work Sybil... I promise," he says, tenderly brushing his lips against hers as he lifts her leg up over his hip.

"Tom... no," she says, reluctantly pushing him away. "I need to shower... I haven't had one since before we left London yesterday."

He sighs and moves aside to give her enough room to make her escape, watching her as she crawls out of bed still completely naked. She is the epitome of beauty - hand carved by Bernini himself he'd once told her and she'd blushed prettily and told him that flattery would get him nowhere.

"Towels are in the airing cupboard in the bathroom," he tells her with a yawn. "Let me know if you need anything."

A wicked grin crosses her face at his words and he knows exactly what it is that she's thinking...

"Five minutes?" she suggests, slipping on his shirt from last night in an attempt to preserve at least some of her modesty should she run into his mother or either of his siblings.

"As milady wishes," he replies, feeling like all his birthdays and Christmases have come along at once.

She cocks an eyebrow at him and stares disapprovingly. "Call me that again and I might just have to lock the door."

He laughs and shakes his head as she slips round the door and into the hall. He can't believe they're engaged - he needs to get her a ring and makes a mental note to ask his mother if there's anything of his nana's that he can use. That's romantic, right? Family heirlooms and such... he knows that she left him her claddagh in her will, but he's determined to save that for the wedding. The wedding - now there's another endless list of things that will need to be sorted. There's no rush though - they haven't even set a date. He rather fancies a spring wedding but already knows that she'd much prefer winter. He's so wrapped up in his thoughts that he doesn't realise how much time has passed and, not even bothering to put clothes on, he strides confidently towards the bathroom and the imminent fulfillment of one of his longest fantasies.

He watches her for a moment through the fogged up door of the shower - she tosses her head back and runs her fingers through her hair as she washes away the shampoo, singing softly to herself as she so often does in the shower. She's so wrapped up in her own little world that he doubts she even knows he's there. He rather enjoys catching her off guard - it's led to some rather interesting trysts during their whirlwind romance (that time she'd been baking in her kitchen is his personal favourite at the moment... the things this woman can do with icing) and this will be no exception. He waits until her back is turned before he slowly opens the door, greeted by a wonderful view of her glorious backside.

Sybil squeals as she feels his arm wrap around her waist. "I thought you'd forgotten about me," she says, leaning back against him slightly and feeling his body press against hers.

"Not a chance," he replies, picking up from where they'd left off in bed and kissing her neck again. She hums contentedly and turns up the heat of the water, unsure if her shivering is because of the cold or in anticipation of what is to come.

He reaches over her shoulder and grabs the bottle of shower gel, the scent of orange blossoms that is so distinctly **her** overwhelming him as he squirts some of it into his hand before starting to rub it across her damp skin - he moves his hands up her arms to her shoulders, massaging them slightly and feeling her relax as he works at the knots in her muscles, gradually moving back down her front and paying particular attention to her breasts, teasing at her nipples and feeling rather satisfied with himself as she moans in delight. With one hand on her hip, holding her steady and pulling her closer still, she wiggles against him, rubbing up against his erection and giggling as he gasps from the friction. In his dreams, it has always been about her, about her pleasure and making her feel wonderful - he's not a selfish lover, self**less** if anything, and nothing turns him on more than bringing a woman - this woman in particular - to her peak. With this in mind, he slides his other hand down further still and, almost instinctively, she moves her feet further apart to grant him better access as he teases the sopping curls at the apex of her thighs - curls which he likes that she's left because he can't for the life of him figure out why women put themselves through pain and discomfort to rid themselves of what is, in his opinion, something so natural and rather beautiful. He finds her slick and ready for him, pushing into her first with one finger and then another, his thumb gently brushing over her clitoris which makes her gasp and push against him.

"Hmmm... oh, Tom," she sighs and lets her head fall back against his shoulder. "More... please."

"Like this?" he asks, thrusting his fingers deeper inside of her, faster and faster as her moans get louder.

"Yes," she pants, her hands blindly searching for something for something to hold onto, feeling her knees begin to buckle as she climaxes. He continues to stroke her through her orgasm and he knows he's capable of making her come again, but he can no longer ignore the fact that his cock is throbbing, aching to be inside of her. He turns her to face him and she looks up at him with dreamy eyes, leaning in to kiss him, running her tongue across his bottom lip and into his mouth, her hand trailing down his chest and abdomen, feeling the play of muscles beneath his skin before taking hold of his hardness, deft fingers teasing his head, shaft and balls and he's like putty in her hands as he gives himself over to absolute pleasure.

"Fuck," he curses and he knows he can't keep it together much longer. "Syb... stop... I need... want..."

"I know," she replies. "Me too..."

He lifts her up and pins her against the wall of the shower, encouraging her to wrap her legs around his waist. She panics as she feels herself slip and, for a moment, he thinks she's going to tell him to stop. "It's alright," he whispers. "I've got you, I'm not going to let you fall... I'll never let you fall."

"Promise?"

"I promise," he says, eyes meeting hers in a moment of complete sincerity. He kisses her nose, sucking off the droplets of water. She reaches down between their bodies and takes hold of his cock, tantalisingly rubbing it against her clitoris a few times before positioning him at her entrance. He thrusts into her with a groan and, after a moment to shift their position slightly, she begins moving her hips against his, their rhythm slow at first, but gradually getting faster as they find their confidence in this new and somewhat dangerous situation. Her mewls and moans quickly become screams and it's a welcome change having spent last night biting down on a pillow to stop her waking the whole house - she's not ashamed to say that she's loud in bed, if anything she's rather proud of it.

He practically yells her name as he feels himself approach his peak, knowing that he should probably pull out but yet he feels powerless to stop it. Her walls clench around him, her fingers reaching down to stroke herself

"Ahhh... hmmm... yes... yes... YES!" she screams as her orgasm washes over her like the steady stream of water from the showerhead. He comes merely seconds later, their breathing heavy as they hold each other close and relish in the aftermath of their lovemaking.

Because that's what it is now...

They finally understand the difference.

"I love you," she whispers as he sets her down on shaky legs. "So very much."

"I love you too," he replies, kissing her senseless before letting her wash his body like he had hers.

_**-xxx-**_

Aileen Branson sighs as she hears the racket from upstairs. Her eldest two hadn't been this bad, but the telltale banging of Kieran's headboard against the wall of her bedroom had made no secret of what he was up to and, as for Órlaith, well... she was far too young to be doing anything with boys, let alone **that**.

"_Oh God... oh yes_!"

"Mind if I shut the door, Mam?" asks Órlaith. "It's err... a bit chilly in here."

"_Mmm... oh, Tom... ahh... YES!"_

Kieran splutters as he chokes on his cornflakes, his attempts to stifle his laughter failing miserably - and there was him thinking that temporarily moving back into his mother's house would be boring.

"It might rain today," says Órlaith, a little louder than is probably necessary as she vigorously butters her toast.

"Pretty hard from what I hear," her brother replies.

"Kieran!" Aileen chides - he may be in his mid thirties, but his crassness and penchant for innuendo still earns him a telling off from his mother.

He's about to reply when everything suddenly goes quiet upstairs and, mere minutes later, Tom appears in the kitchen wearing a clean pair of pyjamas and his damp hair sticking out at various angles from where he's attempted to dry it off with a towel.

"Sybil's just in the shower," he says, sitting down at the table and helping himself to toast. The blush on Órlaith's cheeks and the telltale smirk on Kieran's face don't go unnoticed by the youngest of the Branson boys and he turns to look at his mother.

"What?"


End file.
